Duplicating the crone

A pretty common belief in many different cultures is that inanimate objects can have, or can be imbued with, supernatural powers.

It's not like I haven't dealt with this topic before, here at Skeptophilia.  We've had posts about do-it-yourself voodoo dolls, a haunted wine cabinet, a cellphone that received texts from Satan, and a child's doll named "Robert" which shifts positions by itself, not to mention "giggling maniacally."

And that's just scratching the surface.  If you start asking people you'll find everything from the common and fairly innocuous belief in good luck charms (or in items that bring bad luck), all the way up to belief that there are objects that are cursed and/or inhabited by evil spirits capable of serious damage.

So far, nothing too unusual, although still examples of magical thinking that it'd be nice for the human race to jettison.  But just recently, there's been a technological twist added to all of this medieval superstition.

What if someone used a 3-D printer to make a perfect replica of a cursed object?

Of course, it opens up the question of "why would you want to?", but as we've seen over and over, asking that is not sufficient to dissuade people from doing something.

Brent Swancer, over at Mysterious Universe, tells us about some people who decided to copy a cursed object that's been nicknamed "the Crone of the Catskills." Here's how Swancer describes the object:

[The Crone is] a strange hand-carved statue supposedly found by some hikers stashed away and abandoned, quite possibly hidden, in a dim cave somewhere in the Catskill Mountains of New York.  The doll is creepy to say the least, with a length of filthy cord wrapped around its neck and rusty nails driven into its eyes, and it seems like the sort of thing most people would cringe at and leave lying where it was, but in this case the hikers took it home with them.

According to Swancer, the unnamed hikers lived to regret bringing it back with them, as immediately bad stuff began to happen, like bumps, thuds, and bangs, a feeling of being watched, and worst of all, "odd smells such as that of stagnant water or decay."

If you're thinking "what kind of idiot would find something like that and then bring it home?" it bears mention that I did something kind of similar a few years back.  My wife and I were hiking in the Finger Lakes National Forest not too far away from our home, and were a good ways off the beaten path, when I stepped over a log, and noticed that on the end of the log was...

... a Mardi Gras mask.

It was in perfect condition, and in fact looked like it had been placed there only moments before.  It was in October, the weather was cool, and we hadn't seen anyone else in the woods during our entire hike, so it's not like this was exactly a well-traveled part of the National Forest. So it was pretty bizarre, to put it mildly.

I said, "Hey, Carol, come take a look at this."

I picked up the mask, and put it over my face.  She regarded me with a raised eyebrow and said, "You do realize that if you were a character in one of your own novels, you'd be about to die right now?"

Undaunted, I brought it home, and hung it on the wall in my office. I did have a bit of a turn the next morning, when I walked into the room and found the mask in the middle of the floor.

Turned out the elastic loop had come loose.  So I reconnected it, and it's remained there quietly ever since.  No bumps, thuds, or bangs, and the only bad smells are when my dog decides to roll in Eau de Dead Squirrel and then comes to take a nap in my office.

Anyhow, all of this is just to say that if I'd found the Crone of the Catskills, I'd probably have taken it home, too.  The hikers who found her donated the Crone to the Traveling Museum of the Paranormal and Occult, and even afterwards it continued to do spooky stuff.  The Museum's owners, Dana Matthews and Greg Newkirk, report that after the Crone was obtained, furniture was found knocked over, there was the "smell of fetid pond water," and more than once they opened the place up in the morning to find small muddy footprints on the floor leading to and from the case the Crone occupied.

The Crone of the Catskills

So far, so good.  But the next thing that happened I have to admit I find a little baffling.  A pair of paranormal researchers, Karl Pfeiffer and Connor Randal, decided that it'd be a good idea to use a 3-D printer to make a replica of the Crone.

Havoc ensued.  The printer malfunctioned and a part of it "melted."  Other equipment broke down, or went missing entirely.  People in the room with the replica reported "a sense of dread" coming from the thing, and a "burning sensation" from touching it.

So apparently, the 3-D printer hadn't just copied the Crone's appearance, it had also copied its ghostly hanger-on.

Now, as a diehard skeptic, it's to be expected that I think this sounds a little silly.  But allow me to ask any true believers in the studio audience: how exactly could this work?

I mean, even if you accept that an object can be imbued with a "force" (whatever that means), isn't the usually accepted explanation that it's tied to the object itself?  If you made a copy of the object, you wouldn't expect a piece of the "force" to get knocked loose and attach itself to the replica.  Or at least, I wouldn't.  I didn't think that 3-D printers could make copies of ghosts, you know?

Which, honestly, is a good thing.  Just think of what would happen if you put a 3-D printer in a haunted house, and the ghosts got a hold of it and started duplicating themselves.  In short order, you'd have what paranormal researchers call "a shitload of ghosts."  It'd be a catastrophe, much like what happened in the Lost in Space episode "The Space Destructors," wherein Dr. Smith created an android who then began to create more androids, which was especially awful because the machine was programmed to make them look like Dr. Smith, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.

So it'd be unfortunate if the 3-D printer did make a copy of the evil spirit haunting the Crone of the Catskills.  That being said, if Pfeiffer and Randal have any extra copies of the Crone hanging around, I'd love to have one.  I've got a nice space on the shelf in my office where she could reside.  Also, if all she does is push furniture around and leave muddy footprints on the floor, my dog pretty much has that covered already.

I might even see if I can make a replica of my mysterious Mardi Gras mask, and we can do a swap.  I have to warn you, though, that the mask's antics are even less impressive than the Crone's.  "Falling on the floor once in four years" is really not that much of a superpower.

****************************************

Duplicating the crone

A pretty common belief in many different cultures is that inanimate objects can have, or can be imbued with, supernatural powers.

It's not like I haven't dealt with this topic before, here at Skeptophilia.  We've had posts about do-it-yourself voodoo dolls, a haunted wine cabinet, a cellphone that received texts from Satan, and a child's doll named "Robert" which shifts positions by itself, not to mention "giggling maniacally."

And that's just scratching the surface.  If you start asking people you'll find everything from the common and fairly innocuous belief in good luck charms (or in items that bring bad luck), all the way up to belief that there are objects that are cursed and/or inhabited by evil spirits capable of serious damage.

So far, nothing too unusual, although still examples of magical thinking that it'd be nice for the human race to jettison.  But just recently, there's been a technological twist added to all of this medieval superstition.

What if someone used a 3-D printer to make a perfect replica of a cursed object?

Of course, it opens up the question of "why would you want to?", but as we've seen over and over, asking that is not sufficient to dissuade people from doing something.

Brent Swancer, over at Mysterious Universe, tells us about some people who decided to copy a cursed object that's been nicknamed "the Crone of the Catskills."  Here's how Swancer describes the object:

[The Crone is] a strange hand-carved statue supposedly found by some hikers stashed away and abandoned, quite possibly hidden, in a dim cave somewhere in the Catskill Mountains of New York.  The doll is creepy to say the least, with a length of filthy cord wrapped around its neck and rusty nails driven into its eyes, and it seems like the sort of thing most people would cringe at and leave lying where it was, but in this case the hikers took it home with them.

According to Swancer, the unnamed hikers lived to regret bringing it back with them, as immediately bad stuff began to happen, like bumps, thuds, and bangs, a feeling of being watched, and worst of all, "odd smells such as that of stagnant water or decay."

If you're thinking "why the hell would they have brought it home?" it bears mention that I did something kind of similar a few years back.  My wife and I were hiking in the Finger Lakes National Forest not too far away from our home, and were a good ways off the beaten path, when I stepped over a log, and noticed that on the end of the log was...

... a Mardi Gras mask.

It was in perfect condition, and in fact looked like it had been placed there only moments before.  It was in October, the weather was cool, and we hadn't seen anyone else in the woods during our entire hike, so it's not like this was exactly a well-traveled part of the National Forest.  So it was pretty bizarre, to say the least.

I said, "Hey, Carol, come take a look at this."

I picked up the mask, and put it over my face.  She regarded me with a raised eyebrow and said, "You do realize that if you were a character in one of your own novels, you'd be about to die right now?"

Undaunted, I brought it home, and hung it on the wall in my office.  I did have a bit of a turn the next morning, when I walked into the room and found the mask in the middle of the floor.

Turned out the elastic loop had come loose.  So I reconnected it, and it's remained there quietly ever since.  No bumps, thuds, or bangs, and the only bad smells are when my dog decides to roll in Eau de Dead Squirrel and then comes to take a nap in my office.

Anyhow, all of this is just to say that if I'd found the Crone of the Catskills, I'd probably have taken it home, too.  The hikers who found her donated the Crone to the Traveling Museum of the Paranormal and Occult, and even afterwards it continued to do spooky stuff.  The Museum's owners, Dana Matthews and Greg Newkirk, report that after the Crone was obtained, furniture was found knocked over, there was the "smell of fetid pond water," and more than once they opened the place up in the morning to find small muddy footprints on the floor leading to and from the case the Crone occupied.

The Crone of the Catskills

So far, so good.  But the next thing that happened I have to admit I find a little baffling.  A pair of paranormal researchers, Karl Pfeiffer and Connor Randal, decided that it'd be a good idea to use a 3-D printer to make a replica of the Crone.

Havoc ensued.  The printer malfunctioned and a part of it "melted."  Other equipment broke down, or went missing entirely.  People in the room with the replica reported "a sense of dread" coming from the thing, and a "burning sensation" from touching it.

So apparently, the 3-D printer hadn't just copied the Crone's appearance, it had also copied its ghostly hanger-on.

Now, as a diehard skeptic, it's to be expected that I think this sounds a little silly.  But allow me to ask any true believers in the studio audience: how exactly could this work?

I mean, even if you accept that an object can be imbued with a "force" (whatever that means), isn't the usually accepted explanation that it's tied to the object itself?  If you made a copy of the object, you wouldn't expect a piece of the "force" to get knocked loose and attach itself to the replica.  Or at least, I wouldn't.  I didn't think that 3-D printers could make copies of ghosts, you know?

Which, honestly, is a good thing.  Just think of what would happen if you put a 3-D printer in a haunted house, and the ghosts got a hold of it and started duplicating themselves.  In short order, you'd have what paranormal researchers call "a shitload of ghosts."  It'd be a catastrophe, much like what happened in the Lost in Space episode "The Space Destructors," wherein Dr. Smith created an android who then began to create more androids, which was especially awful because the machine was programmed to make them look like Dr. Smith, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof.

So it'd be unfortunate if the 3-D printer did make a copy of the evil spirit haunting the Crone of the Catskills.  That being said, if Pfeiffer and Randal have any extra copies of the Crone hanging around, I'd love to have one.  I've got a nice space on the shelf in my office where she could reside.  Also, if all she does is push furniture around and leave muddy footprints on the floor, my dog pretty much has that covered as well.

I might even see if I can make a replica of my mysterious Mardi Gras mask, and we can do a swap.  I have to warn you, though, that the mask's antics are even less impressive than the Crone's.  "Falling on the floor once in four years" is really not that much of a superpower.

eBay, metaphysics, and caveat emptor

In what can only be called a puzzling move, online clearinghouse eBay has announced that they will no longer allow selling of "paranormal services."

From the 2012 Fall Seller Update, we read the following:

The following items are also being added to the prohibited items list: advice; spells; curses; hexing; conjuring; magic; prayers; blessing services; magic potions; healing sessions; work from home businesses & information; wholesale lists, and drop shop lists.

My reason for calling this "puzzling" is twofold.  First, they have a whole category called "Specialty Services," and it would seem that such things would clearly fall under that heading.  And as such claims are bogus from the get-go, it would be hard for a purchaser to file a claim under eBay's stated policies for sellers:

As a seller, you're expected to:

• Charge reasonable shipping and handling costs.
• Specify shipping costs and handling time in the listing.
• Follow through on your return policy.
• Respond to buyers' questions promptly.
• Be helpful, friendly, and professional throughout a transaction.
• Make sure the item is delivered to the buyer as described in the listing.

And all of this would seem to be well in line with what these sellers are doing.  All they were selling was a prayer or a hex or whatever; there's no guarantee it would work, just as there's no guarantee that if you ask your religious friend to pray for you (or your wizard friend to cast a spell for you) that it'll produce results.  The only difference is that here, you're being asked to pay for it.

Now, the hopeful side of my personality is speculating that eBay is pulling these offers because they know them to be inherently fraudulent, and they don't want to have any part in ripping off the credulous.  But my second reason for calling this change "puzzling" is that if this is the reason, it's hard to explain some of their other listings, such as:

• A Haunted Fairy Drawing Spinner Pendant, which comes with "five garden fairies included."
• A Real Witchcraft-Coven-Owned Secret Book of Shadows, which comes with a "broom and a wand stand."  (This thing is handwritten, and has a starting bid of $550 -- and currently has seven bids on it.)
• A Seal of Solomon Pendant that allows you to "command a legion of powerful entities."
• A 6" Feng Shui Crystal Ball, that will help you to "channel energy through the house."
• An Enchanted Pin, that will "amplify effectiveness of spoken spells cast."

So you can see that even though they are eliminating services having to do with woo-woo bullshit, they are still fine with selling stuff that has to do with woo-woo bullshit.  My only conclusion is that they don't want to have to mediate between buyers who purchased a magic spell that (amazingly enough) didn't work, and the seller who sold it to them.  But since, other than the policy that (1) the purchased item be delivered promptly, and (2) that the delivered item is as described on the eBay site, there seems to be no basis for a complaint, you have to wonder why they are backing off from what surely is a hell of a deal both for eBay and the sellers.

In any case, that's today's lesson in critical thinking and the principle of caveat emptor.  Me, I wonder if I missed my calling.  If I could make $550 (or more) handwriting a book of spells, and selling it on eBay, and have people trampling each other to buy it, I could retire from teaching and move somewhere warmer.  Spend a couple of hours a day writing out spells, have my wife do the illustrations (because my drawing skills maxed out somewhere in third grade), and spend the rest of the day on the beach soaking up the sun and drinking mojitos.  There's the inevitable downside of knowing that I was taking money from people who possess the critical thinking skills of road salt, but hey, if eBay isn't going to worry about that, why should I?

Wanted: One object, haunted

There's something fundamentally irreconcilable about the materialist view of the world and the spiritualist view of the world, and this is summed up in how the exponents of these two schools of thought tend to view each other.  Spiritualists see materialists as hopelessly dull, missing out on the true wonder of the supernatural nature of everything; materialists, on the other hand, view spiritualists as making stuff up.

Guess which one I am.

I've never understood the criticism of my philosophical stance as dull.  For me, the science of how matter actually works is awe-inspiring enough.  But for spiritualists, apparently, that isn't sufficient.  I suspect a good many of them don't ever bother to learn the science, so it's no wonder they feel the need for something more.  This also explains their consistent misuse of words like "quantum" and "energy," a phenomenon I've commented upon approximately 485 times in this blog.

It also seems to be why they want to imbue inanimate objects with a spiritual nature.  Thus the recent upsurge in interest in "haunted objects."

The FSPP (Foundation for the Study of Paranormal Phenomena) has an informative article on the subject, even though in my opinion it falls clearly into the "making stuff up" category.  The author explains that objects may become haunted by a spirit of a dead person because the object was important to the individual when (s)he was alive, was present when (s)he died, or "for other unknown reasons."  But should that make you nervous about buying an antique?

Absolutely not. I personally love old things, be they furniture or trinkets. There is something about holding something that has been around much longer than I have. You can almost feel a powerful energy when you touch something old. What you are feeling is the vibrations of the object or of the person that owned it. Psychometry is the ability to interpret those vibrations. Unfortunately, I do not possess that particular gift to any usable degree. Even so, I still love old things and I would never abstain from buying something I liked simply out of the fear that a deceased someone may come with the object. Let common sense rule here.

My feeling is that if common sense ruled, you wouldn't believe in haunted objects in the first place.

Despite that, there are still many accounts of haunted objects.  One of the most famous is "Robert the Doll," a three-foot-tall straw doll given to a boy named Gene Otto some time around 1900 who is so renowned that he actually has his own website.  The doll supposedly had been cursed by one of the Otto family employees because of their mistreatment of her, and it proceeded to terrorize the family.  One has to wonder why no one thought of the simple expedient of destroying it, but apparently no one did, and Gene Otto kept the doll into adulthood, but did lock it in the attic once he got married.  There it remained until Otto died and a new family bought the house, discovered the doll, and it started to terrify their daughter.  ''Robert the Doll" is now housed at the Key West Martello Museum, where according to accounts it still "frightens visitors by changing expressions and shifting positions within seconds, and giggling maniacally."

Amazing what the power of suggestion will do, isn't it?  If the evidence was as clear cut as all that, we'd have an instant winner of the James Randi Million-Dollar Challenge.

We also have the story, related on the site "Wee Ghosties," of a "friend of the author" who bought a painting at an estate sale.  The painting's subject is nothing special -- a "red and blue abstract."  But as soon as the painting was hung in the friend's house, odd things started happening, including a spot on the bed depressing as if someone was sitting there, the television turning on and off spontaneously, and objects disappearing and reappearing.  The author concludes, "He bought a ghost along with his artwork."  The whole thing sounds vaguely fishy to me, the sort of thing that you almost always hear third or fourth hand -- "this happened to my mother's first cousin's husband's sister's gardener."  And once again, we have to wonder why, if things were this creepy, with invisible butts sitting on the bed and all, the guy didn't just give the painting to the Salvation Army or something.

Because, after all, there are options.  And if the "burn it" or "give it to a thrift store" choices don't appeal, there's always "Carnivalia's Asylum for Haunted Objects and Wayward Ghosts."  These folks, so the website says, "are dedicated to providing a safe space for all spiritually inhabited objects. If you have an object that you believe is haunted, or cursed, or simply unfetching, we seek to provide it with a good home."  They go on to say that they don't just care about the object, however:  "We will do our best to find a good home for your haunted object, and will work towards leading any spirits attached to it towards their final destination into the light."

From other parts of their webpage, you have to wonder if these people are entirely serious, though:  "We are not that picky, really, and will likely accept the following haunted objects: thingamajigs, doodads, gizmos, whatsits, thingumabobs, widgets, jiggers.  However, our standards prevent us from accepting possessed doohickeys, and we would appreciate you not asking us to do so."

So, okay.  Once again, we have that central problem, which is that we have a group of people who want to ascribe spiritual properties to plain old inanimate objects, resulting in further accusations from us materialists that they're just making stuff up.  And the result, of course, is that I would love to own a haunted object, and obtain first-hand data (or, more likely, not) about what its spirit companion can do.  So I'll match Carnivalia's offer from the website linked above; if anyone has a haunted object and would like to get rid of it, I'd be glad to take it off your hands.  I'll report back here of any disappearing objects, electrical appliance malfunctions, or mysterious ass-divots appearing on beds.  You'll be the first to know.